


Reflection of a Lie

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Shattered [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Anger, Death References, Family, Gen, Lies, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gone was everything that made her Atlanta Black. Gone was her knowledge of being a witch. She was no one. </p><p>Blank slate. </p><p>Squaring his shoulders, he turned and walked over around to the front of the house. He was going to follow through with his plan. He was going to get rid of anything that linked him to Muggles. And no one would ever know about the Riddles and his link to them. He looked back at where Black was on the ground. </p><p>Tom should just kill her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection of a Lie

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I don’t own it. Parts taken from and influenced by _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

That did not go as planned. Nothing had since _she_ had shown up. It was disgusting. The emotions Tom felt were _weak_. 

He kicked her.

It did not make him feel any better. Growling softly, he rolled Black onto her back and dragged her away from the house a bit. He stared at her, debating on his next move. He knelt down next to her, scowling at her peaceful looking face. 

It had not been peaceful when she’d been ranting and nagging him a moment ago. What did _she_ know about Muggles? 

Nothing.

She was a pureblood. A Black. And _American_. She knew _nothing_.

Sneering at her, Tom straightened up. He should have stunned her when they first arrived, though, he did not have Morfin’s wand. Just looking at it, he knew it wasn’t registered. Looking down at the wand, he snorted again. The wand was weak compared to his own wand. It was inferior.

Just like the Gaunts, the pureblooded wizards and descendants of Slazar Slytherin. How could they allow themselves to become what they were? 

It was still a wand and it did work well for him. Though, it would be unable to take all his power. He’d need to be careful or he might break it. This meant controlling his emotions. Something Black did not help in, especially when she started nagging him and whining about _killing_. 

How had she even known he was entertaining simply murdering the Riddles off the face of the Earth? 

He looked back down at the girl. 

He would leave her here. He did not _care_ what happened to her. She might be powerful, she might have something he wanted, but she was too much trouble to be worth what she _might_ be able to give him. Bending back down, he pressed the wand to her head and said, “ _Tergebam Mente De Praeterita_.” 

He put as much power as he dared behind the spell. He had found it in a Dark Arts book on spells that played with the mind. This spell completely wiped her memory in a very controlled manner. Gone was everything that made her Atlanta Black. Gone was her knowledge of being a witch. She was no one. 

Blank slate. 

Squaring his shoulders, he turned and walked over around to the front of the house. He was going to follow through with his plan. He was going to get rid of anything that linked him to Muggles. And no one would ever know about the Riddles and his link to them. He looked back at where Black was on the ground. 

Tom should just kill her. 

No. Something inside of him would not allow him to kill her. Shaking it off, he turned back to the mansion in his mists. 

It was unfair the Riddles had the wealth. It was the Riddles all his aristocratic features and mannerism steamed from. 

Muggles. 

With a sneer painting his features, Tom strode to the front door of the mansion with purpose. 

* * *

The next morning, Frank Bryce woke up to hear screaming. Sitting up in bed, he looked around before getting dressed quickly. Leaving the small house he lived in on the Riddle property he rushed towards the main house to see what was the matter. The back door was wide open and he spotted the maid running away, screaming bloody murder. Hurrying towards the house, he tripped over something, crashing into the grass nose first. 

Cursing, Frank scrambled to his feet, his bad knee giving him trouble as he attempted to stand. He quickly discovered what had caused him to trip: an unconscious girl. He carefully moved her dew damp hair out of her face. She couldn’t be older than maybe ten. She was very young and rather well dressed, though she wore no coat. Just a dark purple dress, stockings and highly polished shoes. He made sure she was breathing and felt a wave of relief when he discovered the warm puffs of air coming out of her nose. 

Righting himself, he debated for a moment what to do with the girl. He soon heard the wail of sirens as the police made their way to the house, having been alerted by that blasted maid. 

Before he could figure out what to do with the girl, he was surrounded by police and was escorted off the property.

As it turned out all three Riddles were lying dead in the drawing room.

And the fact he’d been discovered looming over a body of an unconscious child did not aid Frank Bryce in any manner. 

* * *

Detective Inspector Hastings was not having a good day. He’d just gotten the report back on the bodies of the Riddles. It was the strangest report on dead bodies he’d ever read in his entire life. It had been so strange the first three times he’d read it, he made them do it over.  This was the fifth time he’d read it. The Riddles had been looked over by many more doctors than anyone thought was logical, but each and every doctor said the same thing. The Riddles had not been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated or harmed at all.  

The reports all concluded there was no clear reason why the Riddles were all dead. They were all in perfect health, other than the tiny fact they were all dead. Each doctor said the reason of death might have been terror, as each face was frozen in utter terror. 

“You can’t be frightened to death,” Hastings grumbled. Fright could cause death via failing hearts, but the Riddles all had healthy hearts. 

Throwing the folder down on top of the others, Hastings leaned back in his chair, causing his office to fill with the creaking noise of the wood protesting under his weight. His eyes fell on the report of the girl they’d found at the feet of Frank Bryce, the only suspect in the murder of the Riddles.

Could he even call it murder?

The girl had no clue who she was or how she’d come to be unconscious outside the Riddle House, thus she was worthless in the case.

She knew how to read, do basic math, and was rather well spoken for an American. That was the really strange thing, she had a crisp American accent, one that came from one of those southern states. Like you heard in the films when they wanted to set a character apart from the more well bred Americans. Only hers sounded, well, well bred. 

Frank Bryce had insisted the only person he’d seen at the house near the time of the deaths had been a teenage boy— a stranger Frank had never seen before. He stated he’d spotted him standing where the girl had been found, but at the time Frank had seen him, he thought nothing of it. The boy had been tall, dark-haired and pale. That was all Frank remembered about the boy. He didn’t see the girl till the next morning when he tripped over her. 

Hastings was sure the boy had been invented. The girl had no clue, which wasn’t surprising as she did not know much of anything. She had not even known the date. Or where she was. She did notice everyone didn’t sound like her, which perplexed her. She had no idea why she sounded different, as she’d never heard of America. Or Britain. She didn’t even know there was a war going on. 

Before the report on the Riddles had come back the first time and Hastings did not know he was dealing with such an odd case, some strangely dressed people had appeared claiming the girl had run away from a metal hospital they ran. Since the girl was of no help with his murder investigation and they had all the right paper work, Hastings let them take the girl. 

Picking up her file, he tossed it into the Riddles file and shoved it into a file cabinet where he kept unsolved murders. There was no way he’d ever solve the murder of the Riddles. 

* * *

Tom eyed Black. She looked the same, only in ugly clothing provided by the Ministry. 

Dumbledore could not explain the reason for her complete memory loss in general. No one could. 

Tom smirked.

He _was_ better than the great Albus Dumbledore. The spell had worked. Atlanta Black was gone. Tom was sure Dumbledore had poked around in the girl’s head to try to figure out what was wrong with her. To anyone who tried that, it appeared as if she had simple case of amnesia caused by head trauma. Everything inside her head was foggy and unclear. 

“Mr. Riddle?”

Tom looked up from where he’d been smirking at the ground to find Dumbledore studying him with an intense look in those light blue eyes. Tom quickly put on his polite mask. 

“Yes, Professor?”

“Might you have something you’d like to tell me?”

Tom put an innocent expression on his face. “No…I am simply glad we found Calliope.” 

Dumbledore stared. Tom knew he was trying to see into his mind, so he pulled up fake memories of being worried about Black, the fake relief he’d felt when the Ministry had contacted the Headmaster. Dumbledore frowned upon seeing Tom’s thoughts. 

“All right,” Dumbledore said carefully. “This is still highly suspicious, seeing as a family who shared your surname was found dead with Calliope in their yard.” 

“It is tragic. I’m sure Calliope was simply trying to find our father and got in Mr Gaunt’s way.” 

Tom internally smirked. That memory spell had worked wonderfully as well. Fooled the Ministry perfectly. He figured he would use the same spell once he was left alone with the shell of Atlanta Black to create the Calliope Wren Riddle he wanted. 

“How did Calliope find the Riddles when you have never been able to?” Dumbledore asked.

“I do not know.”

Dumbledore stared again, his blue gaze burning Tom. 

With that non-verbal warning, Dumbledore walked away. No one knew Tom had visited his uncle, as well as his paternal family that night. Tom had fed the professors and the Ministry lies. He stated he had remained at Hogwarts and Calliope snuck out. He had discovered her missing the next morning, the morning he alerted Slughorn to her disappearance. 

Tom, grinding his teeth together, turned toward the sleeping girl. 

The time she had been gone had been blissfully quiet and he’d managed a great deal of work. He was more than ready for her when St. Mungo’s released her. The ten days she’d spent at St. Mungo’s after the Ministry had found her when they’d gone to check the Riddle’s to confirm they had been killed by Morfin had done nothing for her other than make her rather crabby. She did not gain any new memories, did not remember who she was or anything useful. All she gained was a intense dislike for Healers. 

Not being able to help, the hospital released her to Dumbledore. 

School was beginning in another two weeks and he had a lot of work to complete on Calliope Wren Riddle. She needed to be groomed. She needed memories implanted for her to “remember.” 

Tom felt her magic before he saw her when Dumbledore had escorted her into the Slytherin Common Room. It reached for him, crackled around him, then began to hug him. He hated to admit it, but he’d missed that feeling. That moment he was glad she was back. He was reminded of her power, her potential, and the fact he did _want_ it for himself. He had to harness that power within her. 

It was not till he was back at Hogwarts and had calmed down when he realized the brilliance of his actions that night. 

He had gotten ride of Atlanta Black and finished charming the diary to hold his memories of the Chamber of Secrets. He’d be able to leave it behind for someone else worthy to complete Salazar Slytherin’s work. 

He needed to kill his father, the filthy Muggle. He wanted there to be no way to trace him to that filth. 

He killed the entire Riddle family. 

He needed to get rid of his ugly, disgusting uncle.

His uncle was sent to Azkaban for life for the murders of the Riddles. 

He also needed to control Calliope Riddle. Tom would not be able to control Atlanta Black. 

He knew it would take the Ministry forever to find Calliope Riddle in the Muggle world. It took them two weeks to track her down in relation to the murder of the Riddles, as after they found Morfin, they didn’t think twice about the child that had been found on the scene. It was only after viewing his memories, did they wonder about the witch might be the missing Calliope Riddle. 

People were so dense. 

Smirking wide, he turned his attention to the empty shell of Atlanta Black. It was time to create Calliope Wren Riddle. 


End file.
